


Cursed Knowledge

by Porphyrios



Series: Kinktober 2019 [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Daedric Princes, Established Relationship, Fucking Machines, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Temptation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 08:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: Kinktober 2019 (Fucking Machine): Caedmon gets an urgent message to go to Markarth at the same time Vilkas' wedding demands Farkas' presence.  So he goes, but what he finds confuses, arouses, and ultimately frightens him.Note: this is set in the same world as the story "Make Me Yours, Wolf"





	Cursed Knowledge

The brazen Gates of Markarth loomed before him as Caedmon groaned and stretched, feeling half-dead from the long brutal carriage ride from Whiterun. He would have given anything he owned for Farkas to be here with him. For that matter, his husband would have ignored anything but his brother's wedding to be here, but of course that ass Vilkas would schedule... no, Caedmon remonstrated with himself, be fair. The wedding had been planned for three months. Vilkas and Caedmon shared a cordial distaste for each other, but he would never have omitted him from the invitation as his brother's lifemate. The real blame for this cock-up lay with bloody Jarl Igmund, who decided that he would 'demand' the presence of his favorite Thane the same week as the wedding to discuss solutions to the increasing number of hagraven attacks. Caedmon wondered what the real issue was, because he knew Igmund didn't give a bent septim about hagravens. Another dancing pony show, he thought sourly. This is why he would never choose to live here in Markarth. Still, he couldn't wait to get to Vlindrel Hall for a hot bath.

Coming through the gates, he acknowledged the salutes of the guards with a nod and a wave, then looked at the city sprawled out before him. Well, more accurately, sprawled upwards. Already sore, Caedmon looked at the endless slopes and stairs of Markarth and sighed. Honestly, politics weren't the only reason he avoided Markarth. No wonder everyone from the peasants to the nobles here had legs like dray horses! Craning his neck, he could see the lip of rock that hid his front door from here, almost directly overhead but a good forty-five minutes walk around half the city to get there. The Breton would have cried if there hadn't been people around, but settled for growling instead. Hoisting his pack, he trudged wearily up the slope.

By the time he reached Vlindrel, Caedmon was out. Out of breath, out of patience, and out of temper. Cursing every previous generation of mages that hadn't developed a proper flying spell (at least one that didn't involve the inside of the body trading places with the outside - he'd read the research notes of Alim d'Shan's ill-fated attempts), Caedmon made a vow to himself that such a spell would become his top research priority. Julianos bless him, maybe he could get Tolfdir to work on it; the old coot just wandered around wasting time and boring the students as far as the Breton knew, wouldn't hurt him to do some legitimate research again. He imagined being able to come in the gates and just go straight up, crossing the distance in a minute that had taken him almost an hour, then realized that thinking about it was only making his bad mood worse. Sighing he yanked the door open and walked directly into a chest like a stone wall.

"What do you... oh! Greetings, my thane!" rumbled Argis' incredibly deep voice, tone shifting from aggressive to humble quickly. Caedmon resisted the urge to rub his nose where it had slammed into a breastplate; no wonder his housecarl had the nickname 'the Bulwark'. The dark blond giant was as big as a fortification for sure, and about as hard. Had the voice of a mountain speaking, too. "I had no idea you were near or I would have come to carry your items." Stepping back, he gestured a welcome to the receiving area and hoisted Caedmon's heavy pack like it was a feather.

"Argis, no worries, great to see you. I didn't know I was coming until two days ago, and any message would have come on the same carriage I was on. Bit useless to get a message saying 'Caedmon's on his way' carried by Caedmon himself, isn't it?" He chuckled, amused at his own image, but Argis' impassive visage gave no hint of amusement. Sighing internally, Caedmon continued, "At any rate, here I am. If you'd be so kind, I'd be eternally grateful if you'd fire the boiler while I put my things away. I'm in desperate need of a bath from the road." As they proceeded into the main dining hall, Caedmon paused. The sight of the deep halls of carved stone banded with caps and decorations of dwemer metal was always impressive, even when he was exhausted. However... Usually there was a stack of messages waiting for him here; bills, requests for aid, invitations to parties, all kinds of foolishness, but looking around he saw nothing. "Any messages arrive for me in my absence?"

Argis jumped almost guiltily. "Yes, my thane! I was concerned that they would get misplaced or dirty here in the main hall, so I placed them in a basket by the entrance to your workshop. I hope I did no wrong?" Caedmon shook his head, partially to reassure his carl and partially in amazement that someone so huge could be so... docile, almost fearful of displeasing him. Argis was even taller and more muscular than Farkas, no small feat even in the land of giant Nords, looming over Caedmon's slight-built Breton frame like a cliff wall. To have him almost cringing was a slightly surreal experience, and the mage wondered what had happened to his carl to make him act this way. He might never know, honestly, given how little time he spent here in Markarth, but his curiosity began to rise. Maybe Farkas would be interested in a visit here?

"Of course, a brilliant idea, thank you so much for your attention to details! You are truly a treasure, Argis." The enormous Nord flushed with pleasure at the praise and ducked his face, then pointed in the vague direction of the boilers, mumbled something, and strode off. Shaking his head at the housecarl's odd behavior, Caedmon moved into his chamber and began putting away the things he had brought for the journey. Court clothes in the wardrobe, traveling outer robes on the chair for laundering, books on the table near the bed, food... well, food could stay in the bag, the larder looked like his housecarl had been shopping for an army. Stepping out of his room, he wandered over to the entrance to his laboratory and sure enough, there was a huge pile of assorted parchments in a small basket he didn't remember seeing before. 

He opened the door of his lab and stepped through, sorting the pile. Invitations to things that had already passed; thank you notes for this or that, very nice; a note from Raerek the Steward asking about... oh, asking about when he was returning, probably the proximate cause of Igmund sending a Messenger's Guild runner to find him. Still no indication of what the actual problem was. He remained firmly convinced it wasn't actually hagravens. Preoccupied, he started placing sorted piles of correspondence on his enchanting table but then gave a startled second glance. One of his soul gems was missing. Odd, he thought. Not an expensive one either; certainly not the gem that a thief would take, given the box of giant gnarled crystals and black gems that sat open nearby, some used, some not. The only reason he knew it was gone was because of its odd shape; it had a deep groove running down one side that was probably why it would only hold such a middling charge, but it made it stand out from the others. Caedmon knew from previous conversations that Argis had the usual Nord fear of magic; the chances that he would have come in here were practically nonexistent, let alone picked up a magical component and moved it. He refused to even think 'stole it' because... stole it for what? It wouldn't fetch much from a merchant, even if they were willing to deal in such items. Only enchanters could use soul gems, and Argis and the court mage Calcelmo had a fierce detestation for each other. As far as Caedmon knew, he was the only other person in the city who would be able to use an enchanting table as anything other than a desk. He put it out of his mind with a mental note to ask his housecarl about it; this was the very definition of a minor issue, but he didn't want to worry about it becoming a major one. He was unconcerned about the crystal, but he didn't like the idea of a thief (or worse, a Brotherhood assassin) having access to his private study.

A deep, rumbling voice broke into his thoughts. "Your bath is hot and waiting, my thane." Julianos be praised, Argis had actually run the bath as well? He needed to give this man a bonus. He could only imagine Gregor's face if he asked the irritable Nord to run a bath for him, and the burst of profanity that he imagined Lydia responding with made him grin like a jackal.

"Thank you again, Argis. You spoil me." Once again, the giant Nord blushed like a schoolboy and ducked his face, mumbling. Now that his attention was called to it by thinking of the bath, the filth and weariness of the road was suddenly oppressive and he couldn't wait to soak in a pool of hot water. Argis mumbled something else, looking up at the mage from under his heavy brows. "Beg pardon?"

"I asked if you would need... anything else, my thane." Argis looked a bit flushed, probably from the steam rolling off the hot water. Caedmon couldn't wait to slip into that bath. He began to disrobe.

"No, thank you Argis, but you are truly a god among men for preparing this for me." Peeling off his loincloth, he slipped into the carved stone pool and sighed deeply. "What were you fixing for dinner?" Argis was standing, staring blankly and suddenly shook himself. "Is everything alright?"

"Y-yes my thane," he said, ducking his head again. "For dinner we have two brace of ducks from the river, I was thinking I could fix them with a snowberry mead sauce, or if you'd like, I can go get..."

"By the Nine, that sounds amazing. I had no idea you were a skilled chef too! Argis, why aren't you married? She would be the luckiest woman on earth!" Caedmon realized he was talking about things that were none of his concern, but the hot water was relaxing him to the point where he was having trouble focusing on anything. When he glanced over, Argis was gaping at him like a hooked fish. Julianos save him, now he had offended his housecarl. Caedmon felt like an ass. "I'm so sorry, Argis. I was babbling, and completely out of line. Your personal life is of course none of my business. Yes, by all means, let's have the duck, I can't wait. I'm sure it will be sinfully delicious. Thank you, that will be all." The huge blond turned and stepped away hurriedly, almost clipping the doorframe as he left.

After a decadent period of time, when the water had cooled to the point where it was barely tepid, Caedmon hauled himself out of the bath and dried himself with a spell, then wrapped himself in a flimsy houserobe and wandered back to his bedroom. He felt slightly guilty for leaving his dirty travel clothes in a pile in the bathing chamber, but he couldn't bear the thought of touching them with his newly-clean hands. Argis would take care of them. Once back in his chambers, he put on his court finery, including the elegant circlet he had gotten from Savos Aren years ago, and fetched the Steward's letter just in case. He peered into the kitchen where Argis was almost comically hunched over a pan on the stove, drizzling duck fat onto simmering snowberries. "Argis," he said in a soft voice, and felt good that there was no surprise in the look he got from the huge Nord. "I came to meet with the Jarl, so I'm off to court. Gods willing, I won't be gone long. I will send a messenger if I'm too delayed, alright?" A grunt and a nod were his response, then Argis shook himself and stood tall.

"Yes, my thane, that is most kind of you." Another fleeting expression of embarrassment crossed the broad face, presumably at forgetting the etiquette he tried so hard to maintain. Caedmon felt a burst of affection for the giant blond, and smiled, but the reaction that he got was another one of those stunned looks that he couldn't interpret. Sighing, the mage bid him farewell and headed to court with the summons tucked in an inner pocket of his tunic.

Upon arriving, the guard announced him and Raerek came down the steps from the high seat to meet him, smiling broadly. "Ah, Thane Caedmon, always a pleasure to welcome our most illustrious thane to court!" He leaned over to clap the mage on the shoulder, and leaned in to whisper, "Is there trouble?" Caedmon peered around at the other man in confusion.

"A pleasure to be here always, and an honor to serve the Jarl!" the mage said loudly, then stepped aside with Raerek and said in a low voice, "You and Igmund both summoned me, so I came as soon as the messenger found me. Sorry for the delay, but I was at Heljarchen and you know how remote it is. What's this about hagravens?"

"Hagravens?" Raerek blanched. "Nothing that I've heard, and I hope there isn't anything to hear! Vile things, they're the last thing we need around here." Caedmon's confusion was growing. He wondered to himself just what the hell was going on. "I didn't summon you, but let's go talk to Igmund. Court is wrapping up for the day, we can go talk in the privy chambers." At Caedmon's nod, the Steward guided him up the steps to greet the Jarl. Igmund was splayed out as usual on the uncomfortable stone throne, but brightened at the sight of Caedmon.

"Thane Caedmon, I'm delighted to see you at court! What brings you here?" Caedmon was beginning to suspect that he was being played, but he wasn't sure by whom or to what end. Aside from a moment's fury that he was missing Vilkas' wedding to be dragged away from home, he was becoming quite disturbed indeed.

"My Jarl," he said smoothly, trying to betray none of his rapidly increasing worry, "a messenger arrived with a message from you speaking of concern about the increase in hagravens in the Reach. After speaking to Raerek, he seemed to think you didn't send it. Quite a mystery. I received this," he pulled out the message from the Steward from within his tunic, "at Vlindrel Hall, so I had thought it was about the same..." He broke off. The parchment was as blank as if it had never been written upon. Caedmon felt as if the world was spinning around him. The three men looked at it, two in confusion and one in rapidly increasing fury. "I swear to you, when I left my home, there was writing here, and it was a note from Raerek himself asking me to attend upon you! This is madness." Jarl Igmund looked at Raerek, who stared back blankly.

"We..." said Igmund finally, "I... am unaware of any such concerns. Of course, if hagravens are reappearing, it would be of great concern, and I might very well send for you, but..." He glanced at Raerek again, who shrugged and shook his head, "... I have received no such reports. We are always glad to welcome the Dragonborn, and the court is always open to you, even if you weren't a thane, but..." Igmund shrugged helplessly. "Why would someone send you a false message? Messengers are quite expensive for a prank. And the magic to make a false letter in someone else's hand... I don't know that Calcelmo could do such a thing, even if he would want to." Caedmon agreed, but thought the Jarl's assessment was more political than actual. He himself knew as a mage that such a spell would be very difficult to accomplish, especially if it faded away after its mischief was accomplished. He didn't know anyone, except maybe Drevis Neloren at the College, who might attempt such a thing. Disgusted, Caedmon tucked the paper back in his tunic.

"Quite right, my Jarl, I only know of one mage who could begin to attempt such a thing, and even then I'm not sure he could," Caedmon said. "But for good or for evil, I am here. Was there anything you needed me to do for you while I am in Markarth?" Raerek raised his hand at this point to stop him.

"Bide a moment, thane, if you would be so kind." Turning to the guards at the entrance and the few late petitioners standing at the foot of the stairs, he called out in a loud voice "The Court is closed for the day." Disappointed grumbles echoed up to the space where the high seat was as Igmund levered himself off the uncomfortable stone throne and the three men headed into the more comfortable private chambers behind the audience room.

=

Later that night, Caedmon cursed softly. All the tests he could think of revealed no enchantments on the parchment at all. It was as magically neutral as a pebble from a stream. He had bidden Argis good night hours before after a truly phenomenal dinner, and the carl undoubtedly thought he was long abed by now. Caedmon had even retired to his chamber for a bit, but sleep wouldn't come. Finally he returned to his lab through the darkened house. The mystery of the parchment and the false letter was nagging at him, and he was worrying at it like a dog with a bone. He had run every test he knew of, and a few he wasn't even sure that he was doing properly. Nothing revealed that the parchment had ever even been near an enchantment, spell, magical working, or even magical construct. Given how riddled Markarth was with old Dwemer artifacts and magical devices, it was almost suspicious how clean and null the parchment was. No matter how he racked his mind, though, the mage knew of no spells that would allow the magical history of an item to be erased, and for that matter nobody had even theorized that it might be possible. He leaned on the enchanting table and put his head in his hands as a wave of tiredness hit.

Suddenly, the senses he had been using so much for the past few hours tingled. Somewhere in the house, there was a sense of... something magical. It seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it, like a half-smelled scent that brought back faded memories. Still, given the events of the day, prudence was best, he thought sourly. Caedmon looked up and began folding spells around himself. He wasn't naturally cat-quiet like Farkas, but his illusion spells could make him effectively invisible and undetectable. He cast armor on himself, just in case, and swathed himself in shadows and muffling magic to hide any sounds. Straining his hearing, he heard a muffled rhythmic thumping coming from somewhere. On magically catlike feet, he ghosted through the darkened hall. The hallway was empty, the dining room undisturbed, and he proceeded down the passage toward the bathing chamber. The thumping sound seemed to get stronger as he passed down the hall, but there was no sign of any intruder. A quick series of spells revealed no intruders, living or dead... curious. Argis' chamber was at the end of the hall, and the sound seemed to emerge from there. Now he heard a muffled groaning and gasping. Oh. Feeling uncomfortably like an intruder in his own home, Caedmon hoped that Argis hadn't brought someone back to the house, but... his magic had shown there were no others present. Almost afraid to look, he eased the door open a crack and peeped inside after renewing the charm to make himself unable to be seen or heard. It was a blessing that he did, because otherwise his hiss of indrawn breath would have given him away for sure.

In Argis' room, only a few candles were burning, casting a flickering light. In that light, Caedmon saw the massive, naked form of his housecarl splayed on a stone bed, while behind him some form of Dwemer spider servant worked a piston tirelessly from beneath itself. Its legs braced against the bed on either side, and the piston was delivering a relentless fuck between the Nord's trim, muscular buttocks. Argis was truly a mountain; huge and muscular, he was exactly Caedmon's type, practically the image of the fantasy men he had spent his teen years wanking to in the family house in High Rock. His enormous back and shoulders melted into trim hips. A muscular chest covered in golden fur was barely visible where Argis knelt, bent over for the probing machine. The massive thick quads that characterized all the natives of Markarth yielded to square, blocky calves and large, bony feet. In the shadows underneath him where he was propped on all fours, the mage could barely discern his servant's hand, working on... Gods and daedra, was that real? Instead of the Bulwark, Argis should be called the Battering Ram; that monstrous cock looked like it would be of more use in knocking down city gates than for fucking a human hole. Farkas was big, certainly, but this thing... honestly, he thought, there can be too much of a good thing, and this would be it. As he watched, transfixed, Argis grunted a command and the pace of the machine picked up. The piston began rotating, first one way and then the other. Little puffs of steam emerged from the cage at the top which held... oh. Caedmon recognized his missing soul gem by the scratch, now slotted into the tiny cage atop this spider to power the mechanism. The sight took his breath away. He had never been tempted to cheat on Farkas, had never even thought about it, but now he couldn't stop watching the incredible, erotic performance in front of him. Argis' hand sped up as well, and he began to arch back to meet the inexhaustible pounding of the thrusting piston. As he got close to his climax, Caedmon could hear the housecarl start to mutter "Yes, so good, fuck me, ride me, make me yours". He knew he should withdraw and leave the man to his privacy, as anyone deserved, but his feet were rooted where they stood. His eyes felt like they were about to burst out of their sockets, he was watching this so intently. Argis moaned "Yes, my thane, take me, make me yours, oh Caedmon, Caedmon, fill me up with your seed..." and then he came, ribbons of semen shooting everywhere from that preposterously large cock. Caedmon was so shocked he didn't know what to do. But he said... so he wanted... he called out... oh. OH. Turning in a daze, he fled back upstairs to his laboratory and shut the door quietly, leaning against it.

The mage realized all at once that it was not safe for him to stay here. He didn't trust himself to know that his servant wanted him, certainly not after seeing him naked and realizing how enjoyable time spent in bed would be with that massive, sexy man. That Argis looked like his childhood fantasies was one thing; that he had the desires of his childhood fantasies was another thing entirely, especially since Caedmon already had a spouse that he very much loved. He prided himself on his willpower, but there were limits. Caedmon's head was reeling from this show. He realized as well that he was almost unbearably hard, so turned on by the sight of the giant Nord pleasing himself that he was light-headed. As he turned to go back to his room to take care of his erection and then pack, he glanced at the parchment where it lay on the enchanting table and his blood ran cold. There was writing there again, where there had been none a mere half hour before. Erection fading and desire to pack forgotten, he crept over to the table.

On the parchment, in curling, elaborate letters, was a message:

_This is a gift of knowledge to my favorite mage. Use it well._

The signature was just the sign of an eye, staring. Suddenly the writing dissolved into an impression of waving tentacles, and faded away. Shaking, he saw another line below it in an extravagant, sloping hand, which said simply:

_Our favorite._

The signature for this line was a rose, just past full bloom and half-blown. That line of writing dissolved into sparkles and faded as well, leaving the parchment blank and bare again. 

Caedmon understood, and wished he didn't. Hermaeus Mora, lord of forbidden knowledge, and Sanguine, master of lust and debauchery, had sent him a private message. Two of the most troublesome of Daedric Lords, and two that Caedmon had bested some time ago... or so he thought. This was truly a 'gift' of elaborate wickedness, cursed knowledge of the first water that could never be unlearned. To know that the man of your childhood fantasies was available to you, and all you had to do was cheat on your beloved husband and forswear your vows before Mara... this 'knowledge' was a terrible revenge indeed. With a shout, he flung the parchment into the fireplace, where it writhed as it burned. Tears running down his face, Caedmon fled back to his room to pack. He could never return to Markarth without Farkas, that was certain. If he left now, maybe he could make it to Whiterun in time for the post-wedding celebrations.


End file.
